may have a human badge and a human obligation here on your skin, but underneath it, you have an elven heart,” Arlen had told him. “You’ve got a good heart, and I know you will always chose to do the right thing.
“Let me know when you come back, and let me know if you need someone to go yeti hunting with you, now that I know how profitable it is!” he laughed, and descended the stairs into the darkness.
Arlen’s trust was reassuring. Kestrel’s return to the Elven community felt easier and more comfortable, knowing that someone who knew him could still have complete faith in him, and buoy his trust in himself.
He would be back through Firheng again, he felt confident, and so it seemed reasonable to leave his belongings in his room atop the housing unit. He stuffed minimal supplies in his pack, then gathered up his bow and arrow, typical of elven guards, and his sword and staff, atypical of elves, and went to see Belinda. She had a message tube sitting on her desk awaiting him, and a smile on her face when she saw him.
“I’ll tell you, Kestrel, that water you provide is a miracle. My eyes tear up just thinking about how much good it will do Ranor to use the new skin of water on him,” she told him earnestly. She rose and picked the tube off the desk, then handed it to him before giving him a long, tight hug.
“Travel safely, and come back to us soon, with or without those stylish ears!” she grinned as they broke their clinch and looked at each other. She was another good friend Kestrel could rely on to trust him and have faith in him, he knew. “And tell those goddesses to go easier on you next time!” she added impishly.
“I’ll tell them,” he smiled back, then was out the door and on his way to Center Trunk.
The trees were beginning to change. Autumn’s beginning was not far away. He had noticed leaves on the ground as he left Estone, but his attention had usually been diverted by his thoughts and worries, so he had paid little attention. Now, as he jogged along the southern road within the forest, he noticed the leaves on the ground, and the colors that were emerging among the green leaves still on the trees. His journey was a little noisier than it had been during the summer, as leaves crunched beneath his feet, but Kestrel appreciated the noise as a reminder of life in the forest, the life of an elf in the autumn, when the nuts were harvested and stored in a frenzy of preparation for the approaching winter.
That night he climbed up into a tree and slept, rather than use his blue-ribboned tube to secure a bed at an inn. He appreciated and preferred the solitude of the forest, until he awoke just before dawn to the arrival of a rain shower.
Kestrel hastily climbed down from his tree perch, almost slipping on the wet branches during his descent, then pulled a weatherproof cover from his pack, and began a slow stroll along the forest path. When daylight sullenly arrived through the heavy overcast, he picked up speed slightly, careful of the slick leaves that were being knocked from the trees along the entire course of his journey that day. Ditches filled with water, and streams rose as rain steadily soaked the forest all day long. Kestrel was chilled by late afternoon, and had no doubt about the advisability of stopping at a small village inn for the night. His message tube secured a room for his use, and he undressed and dried out before putting on dry clothes and heading down to the common room for dinner.
Few travelers were at the inn, but many locals had come to the tavern to socialize, and Kestrel was squeezed between two groups of the villagers as he ate his dinner quietly and listened to their talk. Despite the weeks that had passed since the fire and battle with the humans, the conflict was still a topic of conversation, and Kestrel listened gloomily to the elves speak angrily about the humans. A pair of guards from their own village were killed in the battle, and the neighbors mourned their loss
“You look kind of human yourself,” one of the larger elves at the table said to Kestrel, speaking over the rim of his tankard of ale.
“I’m a member of the guard, delivering a message,” Kestrel said quietly. He sensed that he needed to pick his words carefully to avoid any open hostility.
“But you look human,” the other elf insisted.
“I am an elf,” Kestrel replied.
“You are what you look like,” the large elf placed his tankard on the table, and the others around the brewing confrontation grew quiet as he rose from his seat.
There was an inevitability to the approaching fight, Kestrel concluded. He rose too.
“If that’s the case, you ought to be out in the woods snorting around searching for acorns, because you look like a pig. Oink, oink,” Kestrel replied.
The room was profoundly silent at that, and the drunken man’s face grew red, while his features distorted in anger, and he dove across the table at Kestrel.
The fight between the two lasted fifteen seconds. Kestrel was sober, and he was trained in hand-to-hand combat, and he was confident in his abilities. He evaded his opponent, then struck hard and repeatedly before he forced the drunkard to the floor and placed a foot on his back in a victory pose.
“Does anyone else doubt I’m an elf?” he asked.
In reply an arrow flew across the small room, and struck him on his chest, bouncing off the hidden mark Kai had placed in his chest. The arrow bounced off him and deflected to the table spot he had previously sat in, striking the wood with enough force to stick, as Kestrel was forced backward a step by the energy the shaft pressed against him.
Kestrel looked up at an elf who held an empty bow, his jaw hanging slackly. Kestrel raised his finger and pointed. “You’ll regret that,” he told the shooter, then drove at him, punching him and breaking his bow.
The tavern emptied out rapidly, and Kestrel looked at the dismayed proprietor. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”
“Lad, I’m likely to have twice as many here tomorrow talking about tonight,” the older elf said philosophically. “They shouldn’t have treated you that way.”
Kestrel left the empty room and went upstairs, where he bolted his door and lay down on his cot to contemplate the foolishness of the evening. Twice he had been attacked by elves for looking like a human, as well as taunted endlessly while growing up. He’d never been attacked among the humans, but he’d only been in a rare city where elves were accepted, or at least tolerated, among humans, and he’d not been there long, and he’d not been associated with elves by the humans he came in contact with.
But the people he trusted and cared about most, Merilla, Arlen, Belinda, Cheryl — were a mix of both humans and elves, and their friendship wasn’t diminished by his mixed identity. And deities from both races had offered him aid and blessings.
Kestrel fell asleep and slept uneasily. He awoke after dawn, with the rain ended, the sun shining, and the road a leaf-strewn mess. Kestrel appropriated a roll from the tavern kitchen, then left the inn behind and began his travels for the day.
He ran and he thought, and he reached a decision before he reached the gates of Center Trunk. He would do what he thought was in the best interest of elves and humans. He would listen to Colonel Silvan and he would listen to the Doge of Estone. He would listen to Kai and to Kere. But when action was needed, he would think of his friends, human and elven and even sprite and imp, and do what his own judgment told him was the right thing to do.
Chapter 27 — Center Trunk Surgery
Kestrel reached Center Trunk after sunset, and went to the barracks where he had stayed before. He remembered that Silvan might work late, might be in his office, watched over by Giardell, as he had on the occasion of Kestrel’s first visit to the capital, but he didn’t feel he wanted to face the spymaster in the darkened room at night, after a long day of travel. Better to sleep until daylight he reasoned, and visit Silvan in the morning.
He used the blue messenger tube to justify a room at the guest barracks building, and selected the same room he had held his first time in Center Trunk. He lay on the bed and listened to the gentled sound of the city around him, and fell asleep.
He sat up abruptly soon after dawn, awoken by the sound of a sharp knocking on his door. “Who’s there?” he asked as he scrambled out of bed.
“It’s me, Kestrel, Giardell. Colonel Silvan received a report that you arrived last night, and sent me over to fetch you to the office. He’s anxious to read your report and listen to your comments,” the voice outside the door
